


Deleted Excerpts From the Blog of Doctor John H. Watson

by badwolfofbakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crack, Drugs, Fluff, John Watson's Blog, M/M, Promise, SO, Sherlock is lazy, Stay in school, crack is a drug though, i guess this could be constituted as a crack fic, its also whack, jk no drugs, there is also fluff, woohoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:29:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2613440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfofbakerstreet/pseuds/badwolfofbakerstreet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has accessed the storage cloud in which he finds deleted blogs from John's website. The nosey detective can't resist. </p><p>(So maybe the fappening inspired me for some Sherlock fun, but I don't condone what happened to all those celebrities!!!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was writing a letter to a friend who passed away and as I was writing it, it turned into a message to Sherlock from John and I don't understand my own brain because then it turned into this.... I hope you like!

John should never allow Sherlock onto his computer. Alright, so the detective stole it without his consent, but he should know not to leave it lying around, especially when he was so bored. So, so bored. There were no cases on, the video of Moriarty turned out to be an elaborate hoax designed by someone to keep Sherlock from being exiled; Whoever it was that created it had yet to be found, though Mycroft wasn't really trying. 

So there was nothing for him to do, and he was So. Bored. So he opened John's laptop and began snooping. He'd left it at Baker street by accident when he left in a rush to pick up Adelaide from the babysitter when Mary hadn't shown up. So there he was, Sherlock Holmes the great consulting detective with nothing to consult or detect... With the exception of the laptop resting before him. 

He began typing away, searching for what, he didn't know. There were the normal sites he'd deleted from his history, and that got him thinking. Could he access things John had deleted and how far back could he go? Well he was going to find out. 

An hour and many, many clicks later he found himself on John's blog, an array of deleted posts lain before him like a treasure trove of secret thoughts. 

Was it too personal, should he not look? Of course he was going to look, he's Sherlock bloody Holmes. 

\-----------------------------

14th December, 2009

6:03 a.m.

I've been back a grand total of three days and twelve hours, and they've sent me to a therapist. No, not the physical kind for my shoulder or leg... The kind that likes to get inside your mind and try to tell you crazy things, such as: John, your limp is in your head and you should write about it... Here's a blog.

So I'm here... Writing a blog...

And on this blog I shall say.... 

Absolutely nothing. Because that's what happens to me. Nothing.

So long blogging world. Signing off, John Watson. 

\-----------------------------

"Well that was boring." Sherlock sighed, closing the deleted post. He tapped his fingers a few times before deciding to open the next one which was marked a few days before he'd met Sherlock, "I'm sure they'll get more exciting once he starts writing about me." A self-assured Sherlock smirked as he clicked the next one, opening up another deleted excerpt. 


	2. Chapter 2

31st January, 2010

7:02 a.m. 

Sherlock is absolutely insane, but you know who is even more insane!? Me, for thinking it was a good idea to move in here. It's been less than 24 hours and I've already killed a man for him... Probably not a good idea to admit to that online. 

\------------------------------------------

Sherlock laughed as he read the short entry that John had posted and then deleted not even a millisecond later. The next one was titled Date Night; Had he not been excruciatingly bored, he wouldn't have read what he was sure would be a mundane entry about trying to shag Sarah. But he clicked it anyway.

\-------------------------------------------

Date Night

27th March, 2010

2 a.m.

Had a date last night, well... It's still not over, sort of. Funny thing is, Sherlock came along. At first it was really confusing, then I was angry, of course. Part of me wonders, though... What exactly were his intentions for interrupting my date with Sarah? Yeah, sure, the circus thing went along with the murders... But his need to stand so close to us, he didn't really  _need_ to do that, did he? I think he made Sarah uncomfortable. 

Anyway, she and I are back at the flat, looking through books. So many books, trying to find pairs from both apartments. What's a book that everyone in London has?

A dictionary... Was my first guess. But Sherlock of course, was too clever for that. It can't be that. Not a dictionary, encyclopedia, almanac, nor any book that's too common. So it's a book that's common but not common. That's Sherlock. That's how his insane, albeit clever, mind works. Don't tell him I said he was clever, he'll never let me forget it. 

Bugger this, I think I'll try making a move on Sarah. Could be nice, yeah?

\--------------------------------------------

Sherlock scoffed and closed the entry. That was everyone's issue, always trying to come up with a reason for why Sherlock did the things he did. He sighed and thought for a moment, trying to remember the boring bits of John's date with Sarah. Every instance  _with_ Sarah in it was boring to Sherlock. He read on.

\---------------------------------------------

31st March, 2010

"Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, he might even be a good one." Those were the words Greg said to me the first night I met him. The night I decided to kill a man for the consulting detective who would soon become my friend. Had I known it at the time, I would have come to his rescue sooner. I was so transfixed on the image of what sort of man I thought Sherlock to be, that I couldn't see who he really was.

Sherlock Holmes is already a good man, though he wouldn't let you see it. He hides his compassion behind the mask of a 'highly functioning sociopath' and I did my research. He experiences and expresses far too many emotions to be considered even remotely sociopathic. 

You should see the way he cares about Mrs. Hudson. Motherly figures in general are a soft spot with him. It makes me wonder what his own mother is like. Mycroft doesn't seem remotely sentimental, and I think that's why Sherlock pretends to have no feelings. Because of his past and because of Mycroft. 

Whatever the reason, he doesn't let emotion cloud the way he conducts his experiments or investigations. That's the sign of a brilliant detective. 

If he knew how much I really complimented him, he'd be so cheeky I wouldn't be able to be around him. Perhaps it's for the best that he doesn't find out then. I think if he knew how much he's impacted my life, how much he changed it and helped me... Well he'd try to use that knowledge to get me to do something for him. He is Sherlock after all. 

The thing that scares me, really truly scares me about all of this... Moriarty. This is a madman, he has sent us all around the city on a series of crazy tasks... And now Sherlock's sitting in his chair, yelling at the telly like it never happened. Is this what we have in store for us now? All because Sherlock's gotten a bit popular amongst the city's needy public. Or is it this blog? Is it helping to boost his reputation? It's not that popular, is it?

Who cares, I'm going to visit Sarah. Though, I sort of hate to leave Sherlock. Usually after we solve a case, we **both** sit around and yell at the crap telly. But something about this one feels off, it feels different. We've had a bit of a row... Mrs. Hudson calls them domestics, she refuses to accept the fact that I'm not gay. Can't speak for Sherlock, of course. But me? Definitely not gay, have I mentioned I'm going to visit Sarah? My girlfriend: Sarah... Yes. Going to see her right now, in fact. Ta.

\----------------------------------------------

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John's incessant need to prove his masculinity. Also, he kept confessing to shooting the cabbie in his deleted posts. That was most unwise, he'd have to have a talk with John about that idiotic move. 

"God I sound like Mycroft in my own mind." Sherlock said aloud to himself and then cringed at the fact that he was talking out loud to himself. He wasn't even doing an experiment. His phone dinged, but it was across the room. Too far for him to move from his comfortable and convenient spot in his chair. John wasn't around to fetch it for him. So he let it go; Probably wasn't important anyhow. So he opened up another entry and read on.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been slow... Lucky me I can write!!

26th December, 2010

Irene Adler is dead. Or at least that's what Sherlock says. He was able to identify her by her body... Her measurements. It is true, he did know where to look indeed. 

Yet, something about her death baffles me... Her face was too beaten to identify her... So couldn't she have gotten a woman with the same measurements to make it look like her... Did she know Sherlock would be brought in to identify the body? 

And his reaction, he's been playing his violin since I got up this morning. Not sure why I rolled out of bed at 5 a.m. Don't have anywhere to be, newly single. Which, again, was sort of Sherlocks fault... Though I'm not saying I can't be blamed for it. 

My life does sort of revolve around the detective. 

Would never admit that to him, though. He'd be far too pleased. Loyal follower number one, I am. 

Oh dear God, Jeanette was right... _  
_

\------------------------------

"Jeanette was right about what?" Sherlock asked himself, having become far too enthralled in John's posts. He scoffed internally, "Who's Jeanette?" He realized he had no clue whom John was referring to, but kept reading anyways.

\-------------------------------

14th February, 2011

The funny thing about being alone, is that after a while, you get used to it. You spend your days by yourself, you go through your normal daily routine. Wake up, wash, go to work, come home, go to sleep... And then the next day you do the same thing. It's just repetition. 

You get so used to being alone, you hardly notice how depressed you are. But that's the funny thing about it, you're alone until one day you're not. 

One day you're living in a small grey flat and then the next, you're surrounded by vibrant colors, and even more vibrant people. You go from having no one but your alcoholic sister to having a vast array of friends. No offense, Harry. 

So on a day where I'm usually depressed that I have no significant other to dote on, I'm instead seeing clients with Sherlock... He threw a chocolate bar at me earlier, said something about enjoying the celebration of murder... I don't know, but he's excited. To him this day is something else. It's not about love, it's about crime solving.

Well I guess for him, that's the closest thing to love he'll ever feel. 

He still won't tell me what happened between him and Irene. I wouldn't tell him this, but when I returned the night he'd finally beat her and they weren't in the sitting room, I actually checked his bedroom. And mine for that matter, just to be safe. 

And I was relieved to find them both empty. He would have defeated her right then and there, though. I doubt he's a very giving lover... I really shouldn't think about that.

Maybe it's the wine. Sherlock is playing a beautiful rendition of My Heart Will Go On... At my request of course. Told him it was Valentine's Day... That he had to play something pertaining to love... Something about Celine Dion that he really enjoys, not sure why. 

Don't tell him I told you. He's only slightly drunk at the moment. It's rather hilarious. Oh, he's glaring at me... Better be off.

\----------------------------

"Her voice is lovely!" Sherlock shouted at the computer. He rolled his eyes at John's description of him, "Not a giving lover? I've never been anyone's lover, so we wouldn't know if I was giving." He set the computer aside momentarily while he pondered this, deciding to research the kama sutra and other such sexual devices later, after he'd finished the last 10 or so entries in John's blog. 

His phone buzzed, he was receiving a call, but couldn't be bothered to get up and answer it.

"Oh well, they'll survive." He waved his hand at the device across the room which promptly stopped buzzing, as if he'd magically turned it off. He picked the laptop back up and clicked the next entry, one written by him that John deleted. Interesting, he couldn't quite recall writing it. 


	4. Chapter 4

13th March, 2011

Have your eyes ever deceived you, your senses abandoned you hopelessly? As a consulting detective I pride myself on my senses. They're what make me who I am. And yet, tonight I fear they've betrayed me. 

I saw the hound, or what I perceived as the hound. John tried talking to me, but I pushed him away, brushed him aside, as always. 

I think he misunderstood me when I said I don't have friends... Of course he didn't understand what I meant, he's an idiot. 

So here I am, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, telling all of you, the general public... The collection of mentally inefficient social media addicts that comprise the internet community... That John Watson is my friend, my only one in fact. And I'll never stop being thankful for him. 

So, thank you John. Thank you for trying help. 

\-----------------------------

That post had only been up for a minute before John deleted it, claiming it was inappropriate to refer to his readers as mentally inefficient. But he thanked him for writing it. 

Also said "You're welcome." Then he smiled, and Sherlock smiled and it was very touching, to anyone who might have witnessed it, which, come to think of it... Was probably just Mycroft and his team that he had following Sherlock and John that weekend. 

\----------------------------

10th May, 2011

It doesn't matter what Sherlock says or thinks... Moriarty scares me. He does. He scares me, but he also makes me angry. I'm caught between the two emotions, and frankly it's exhausting. 

I found the apple. Sherlock tossed it in the bin, but I found it. 

I don't know what to do...

He's sitting at his microscope... Staring at hair samples from a corpse that, when living, had dandruff. Not sure what he's looking for... Maybe he is searching for a distraction. It bothers him, I can tell. 

I could dstract him... At least I think I could.

\----------------------------

Sherlock knew what was coming. The next deleted post was marked 3 weeks after his 'death'. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the angstiest chapter I've got... This is what I was writing when it turned into a letter to Sherlock... So, please do realize that the beginning is a real note to a real person... And then I turned into John... What? Yeah... That happened.

1st July, 2011

I went to visit you today... I know it's silly, that you're not there... I'm just talking to a hole in the ground. A hole that's been filled with dirt and covered in grass and...

If you were here, would you listen? Would you care? Would you take my hand and tell me it's going to be alright?

Would you laugh and walk away?

My questions will never be answered, I'll never know what might have been. I'll just keep staring at that block of stone with your name on it that does a piss poor job of representing who you were. And I'm sorry, but I don't know if I can go back. It's too hard most days, nothing is right. I can't tell what's up and what's down...

Do you know what's the one thing stopping me following you down that path? Well, you...

If you were here, you'd tell me I'm an idiot for even considering it. Truth is, you saved me from it once, and you're saving me from it now. Does your memory make it any easier?

That... I really can't tell. 

I spent days staring at your chair, trying to muster up an image of what you looked like in it. I wish I had a picture of you in it. I wish I had a video of you flitting about, rocking on your heels, jumping on your chair, pressing your hands beneath your chin, calling me an idiot, looking at me... In that way you always did... It made me feel special.

It made me feel something... And now I feel nothing.

I feel like there's been a hole blown through me, and there's nothing that will fill it.

Not dirt nor grass. Blood, flesh, none of it suffices in the face of tragedy. If I could rip out my heart and give it to you so that you may live, I would.

I know it sounds stupid, you'd think it was stupid. You always thought I was stupid. But your life meant more than mine, always did. What does the world need with someone like me? I can't solve crimes, catch killers... I just sew people back together, but I couldn't do that with you... So what exactly is the point of me?

I'm not... I can't... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't save you. Everyone keeps telling me it's not my fault... I want to blame someone, Mycroft perhaps. But in the end, I couldn't get to you in time. It's my fault. All of it. And I'm sorry.

No one will ever take your place in... There's only one you. There's only one Sherlock Holmes. And no one will ever change my opinion of you, never. 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 Sherlock closed the computer, wanting to throw it out the window. But he didn't. Instead he collected himself, emotions really were a nuisance. He could spend all evening trying to come up with endings for all of John's prematurely stopped sentences, but that would be boring. Taking a deep breath he grabbed the computer, going back in for more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd write more! But alas, I must go to work!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished my screenplay, to celebrate, here's a chapter! WOOH! Also... I'm not quite sure what the time frame for Sherlock is supposed to be, like year wise... I'm gonna go ahead and say that since John kept saying 2 years when Sherlock returned, it had in fact been 2 years. So like, he died in 2011, and came back in 2013... So that means... Since he came back at the end of 2013, that John and Mary's wedding was August 2014... IT WAS A FUTURE WEDDING OMG!!!!! Cause... Y'know, their wedding date is August 11th for some reason... Going by John's blog I mean... So yeah... I'm just going based on that. Yay.

3rd October, 2013

Greg dropped by today... Brought a box of your stuff. Not sure why he thought  **I'D** want it. What do I need with a box of your things staring me in the face every day? 

I watched the DVD anyway... Don't ask me why, I don't know. I just wanted to hear your voice again, to see your stupid bloody face. To laugh... And I did. Not sure whether it was you or the fact that it was a birthday message I never actually received. Eh, it was probably you. 

The point is, I was laughing. I haven't done that in a while, not genuinely. 

Sometimes I laugh with her, but it's not the same. She'll never understand the post case adrenaline, the blood coursing through our veins as we try to catch out breaths after running through the streets of London for the fourth time that week. You always made me run so much, I think it was a way to keep me from complaining about the leg pain. It worked. 

The pain returns sometimes. I can feel it, but I ignore it. That's what you taught me to do. To take my mind off of my leg long enough for the pain to subside. But will it ever really go away, the pain? 

Sometimes it feels better, but it's never gone. And no not just the leg pain, the pain of you being gone. She fills the gaps, she fills the empty space, but not completely. It's just a temporary fix. When will it be permanent? When will I wake up and not have to remind myself that you're not here? Sometimes I get out of bed and go down the stairs and start making two cups of tea only to realize I'm not at Baker Street and you're not here. You'll never be here again.

But that's ok. Because I've got my memories... Memories of you that no one will ever get to have, to share. No one knew what you were really like, I was the only one. You know it's true, you git. If you were here you'd tell me I'm wrong, but I don't care. 

I still miss you every day...

When did this blog become a letter to you?

\-----------------------------------------------------

 Sherlock wiped at his eyes, he hadn't even realized they were leaking. He felt bad enough already, always did. Just like the pain John spoke of, his guilt never really subsided. Not like he'd tell John that fact. There were a lot of things he'd never tell John. 

But it also seemed as though there were a lot of things John would never tell Sherlock.

\-------------------------------------------------------

3rd November, 2013

If this bloody blog is a letter to you, I just want you to know... I hate you. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Sherlock laughed aloud as he read the short entry. A warmth spread through his chest, he knew the real meaning of I hate you. John said it more often than not, it usually meant the opposite. Though, judging by the date, John probably literally meant that he hated Sherlock. That was the night he came back. 

His phone began to go off again, and he finally worked up the nerve to stand up and get it. There were twenty or so texts from Lestrade, one missed call from John. He set the phone aside, deciding if John called again he'd answer. But he wouldn't take the time to call back, and Lestrade could be ignored indefinitely. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

10th August, 2014

I'm getting married tomorrow. _I'm getting married tomorrow._ Tomorrow, I am getting married. As of tomorrow, I will be a married man, with a wife and a house and a lovely, quiet life. Well hopefully not too quiet. I'm hoping that Sherlock will still come round. I'm not saying that a quiet, normal life wouldn't be good, no. Of course not, that's what I want. But if going on cases means that I get to see Sherlock, well, then, I'll be going on cases. 

He's my best friend, so I'd hope that case or no case, he'd still stop by every once in a while. Things were so much different when I lived with him. Saw his face every day, and most days I wanted to punch it.

Speaking of which, Mrs. Hudson rang earlier, kept talking about the time she got married and her best friend never spoke to her again. A real life of the party, that one. I hope she doesn't tell Sherlock that story, he'll flip out. Might refuse to attend. 

No he wouldn't, he wouldn't do that to me, would he? I need him there by my side, this is going to be one of the most dangerous, and well, terrifying adventure's I'll ever go on, and I need him. If he doesn't show up, I'll call Mycroft and have him helicoptered in. Mycroft is good at kidnapping. 

What am I saying, of course he'll be there! He threw me a stag night after all. Course, it was just the two of us and it ended up with us being thrown into the drunk tank, but who's counting. He's a good friend, he'll be there for me. He did say once that I was his only friend. So, there...

See the thing is, my stag night was going really well. We were laughing, having a good time. I was about to get him to admit to being an ass, but we were interrupted by that client. The damn mayfly man. Who knows what might have happened had she not shown up. I could have had him listening to Madonna. 

Bloody bugger thought we had a king...

It is endearing though, only slightly. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much left to go! A couple chapters more I'm thinking. Also, i suppose I'll just be making a few dates up.

12th August

Sherlock left the wedding early. He posted that ridiculous post as well. I can't help but feel like he's angry about something. I asked Mrs. Hudson if she knew where he'd gone off to... I'd finished dancing with Mary and I just wanted to go somewhere quiet with him, express my concerns about learning that my new wife is pregnant... and, well... He'd gone.

Had he been around I would have told him that I'm slightly wary of this pregnancy... She and I... Well our first night as a married couple was our first time together in a while and... I'm just wary. I'm not sure. I'm having doubts. 

I shouldn't be getting cold feet post-wedding. It's my honeymoon (or as Sherlock blatantly put it, my sex holiday) and I should be ecstatic. But I'm not. I'm confused. 

I woke up with Mary draped over me and felt suffocated. I called Sherlock and he didn't answer. I left a voice mail. 

I suppose I'll try to be happy. 

It shouldn't be a task. 

\------------------------------------

1st September 

I haven't seen Sherlock in almost a month and I'm drowning. I find myself reaching for my gun, but it'd be a shame to put holes in the wall of this nice house Mary and I have... such a shame. She hates guns. 

I've been having a dream the past few nights. Reliving my moments with Sherlock. It's stupid, I know. But I miss my best friend. Is that a crime? 

Sherlock would say no and then give me the definition of what a crime is. 

Git.

\-----------------------------------

Sherlock sighed, feeling slightly bad for abandoning John during that first month. He couldn't cope with his best friend being married and therefore somehow less available to him. 

He needed John with him always or not at all... Or at least that's what he thought at the time. That's when he started the drugs again. He lied, said it was for the case but he knew what it really was. 

It took his mind off of missing John. 

Janine didn't fill his shoes in the slightest, every time he'd spoken to her about a case she would crinkle her nose and then try to keep him quiet by kissing him until he stopped talking. Maintaining that ruse was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He despised kissing Janine. Her lips were far too hungry and they were always sticky with some form of gloss or lipstick. 

He shuddered at the memory, clicking the next entry. 

\------------------------------------

12th September 

Sherlock Holmes has a girlfriend. She stepped out of his room wearing little else but his shirt and my heart nearly stopped from shock. Is that possible? I'm a doctor, I should know, but at the moment my intelligence is failing me. 

Sherlock Holmes has a girlfriend.

And he's been doing drugs, 'for a case' he says. He's full of it. 

And he has a girlfriend. And they kissed. Right there, right in front if me. Their lips met and I... Looked away. I'd never paid attention to the pattern around the moulding of that sitting room, it's rather lovely. I'll have to ask Mrs. Hudson who did it. 

It was probably Sherlock, the artistic bastard. 

And now tonight I have to go help him do something involving that man, Magnussen. Something about him was off, but I'd hardly call him the most dangerous man we've ever met. Someone turns my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen, he just happens to have blown his brains out. 

But I'll go and be Sherlocks right hand man, as always. 

\-----------------------------------

12th September

It's not right, I've just gotten him back and now... And Mary isn't answering her phone... And... It's not right. 

I can't lose him, not again, I won't survive.

\-------------------------------------

Sherlock looked down at his dead phone and sighed, the charger was in his room. Too far to walk. The guilt he felt was also hindering his ability to move. He could shout for Mrs. Hudson, but that would involve entertaining a conversation with her, which would be too much for him at the moment. 

He would just keep reading, the laptop had 80% left on its battery. Reliable things, laptops. Not like phones. Phone's die too quickly. 

Though no piece of technology should be more reliable than a person. Their battery life is astounding. Sherlock looked at the blog before him and sighed, two more entries. Then he could get up, plug in his phone, and call his reliable friend. Then maybe Chinese. 


	8. Chapter 8

14th September

You think you know someone. Really know them. You share a house, a bed, a life. Then you find out they've lied about everything. 

Then you realize the people you love and trust lie to you.

Everyone I've ever loved, has lied to me. My mum and dad lied to me for years, told me they were happy. My sister lied to me, told me she'd get clean and sober. Sherlock lied to me... Faked his death. 

And then there's Mary. Or whatever her name is. A.G.R.A. let's play the guessing game... Allison Genevieve Ramona Aberdeen. Amanda Gretchen Raymond-Adams. Adelaide Gouda Rich Asshole. 

I give up. I could just look at it... But what purpose would it serve to know that the mother of my child, the woman carrying a life that I contributed to, is a killer. An assassin. A dangerous woman. I should look, I should know all about her, and then I should take my child and leave her. She's a danger. 

But then, aren't I? I've killed... I've killed because it's what I thought I should do. I killed to save Sherlock. And I'd do it again. 

I'd kill again if it meant Sherlock would be safe and not in a hospital, struggling to get by. I'd have shot Mary, had I seen her about to pull the trigger on Sherlock. 

But I would never shoot Sherlock. 

That's what makes her like them. She shot him, for her own personal gain. And now I can't get out of my chair. I'm staring across at Sherlocks empty chair, and it's like I'm back to before, when I thought he was dead. The floor feels cold beneath my feet and he's not in his chair. 

I could go visit him, maybe he'll be awake, able to sit up, to talk. 

But what would I say? "Sorry my wife shot you, and I'm sorry that you think I'd want to stay with her."

I don't think he realizes how important he is to me. He's such a self loathing bastard.

Was going to go see him, then I picked up a paper and for some reason I read an article about him and Janine... I got so angry I burned it. But don't ask me why. I don't know.

What I do know is that they're probably lies. Sherlock wouldn't make her wear the hat when they..... 

He  _hates_ that hat. Absolutely despises it. 

I thought she was supposed to be the only one who knows what he's really like and she didn't know that. 

I don't know why I'm dwelling on that still. It was all a ruse to break into Magnussens office. But it still baffles me. 

It also angers me. Because if anyone besides Mycroft knows what Sherlock is 'really like' then it's me. 

I'm the one...

The only one, really. Mycroft doesn't know how to calm him when he's angry. He doesn't know how to get him to eat, or how to get him to voluntarily go to sleep. He doesn't understand what it's like to have your entire world ripped from beneath you because the one person you thought would always be there suddenly wasn't. He didn't have to. He only pretended to. 

Janine didn't either. She woke up from being hit on the head to hear that Sherlock and I were both there and the proposal was fake. Magnussen told her she was foolish to believe a man such as Sherlock could love her. At least that's what she told Mary. What else he told her, I don't know. But the way she looked at me...

My thoughts are all over the place right now. I need Sherlock to help me organize them. He should help me build a mind palace. 

No, that's silly, who else has a mindpalace but him? 

\------------------------------------

Sherlock laughed slightly, though the subject was grim, he couldn't help but catch all the instances where John foreshadowed something. 

\-----------------------------------

27th December

Christmas was a bloody nightmare. I reconciled with my lying wife, for what reason? I don't know. Sherlock told me to, I guess. Then he made me come to his parents house to see their happy marriage. 

Then Sherlock killed Magnussen,  _for Mary._ Well, I suppose it was for me actually. Who cares, they're exiling him. 

I have to do something. I thought losing him to a bullet would be hard, but him being out there, without me, possibly hurt or dying... I can't have that. 

I think I realize now that I need him to be here. Always. I need to know if he's alright. I can't be alright unless he is. 

I was never alright when he was dead. No matter how fine I thought I was... i wasn't. I wasn't living. I was surviving, but that's not enough. It's never been enough. 

I'm not John Watson without Sherlock Holmes. I didn't even discover who I was until him, and there will be no more me without him. 

Sounds a bit... Yeah I don't actually know what I'm saying here. 

Or do I. 

I don't want to be with Mary... I want to be with him. 

\-----------------------------------

Sherlock stared wide eyed at the screen, he stared for so long without blinking they began to water. Just as he finally took a breath, the door opened. 

"Sherlock?" John's quiet and gruff voice broke the silence, Sherlock turned. John stood before him, blood dripping from his hands. 


	9. Chapter 9

"John?" Sherlock asked, standing quickly from his chair, setting John's laptop aside and rushing to the trembling man before him. He got to him and immediately began searching for the source of the blood, "Where are you hurt?" His hands ran down John's chest, to his stomach and around to his back, he was about to start on the legs when John stopped him. 

"Sherlock stop."

"Where is the blood coming from?" Sherlock looked up, awkwardly resting on one knee in front of his former flat mate. 

"It's not mine... it's-it's Mary's." John let out a shaky breath, his hands equally as shaky beginning to twist together as he tried to wipe off the blood. 

"What do you mean, it's Mary's?" Sherlock asked, John rolled his eyes. 

"I mean, I went to pick up Adelaide when Mary didn't show and arrived at my house to find it empty and completely empty. Well, all of Mary's things were missing. I dropped Adelaide off with Lestrade, who probably texted you, if you'd answer your damn phone, and then set out for here..."

"And when did the blood happen?"

"I was getting to that, thank you..." John sighed, stepping around the kneeling detective and walking to his chair, "On my way here, there was a commotion and, well... Mary has been shot. I pushed through the crowd by shouting that I'm a doctor, tried to stop the bleeding, hence the hands." He held them up and wiggled his fingers. 

"Shot?" Sherlock stood finally, but didn't move any more than that. 

"Yes, Sherlock, shot. My wife has been shot by an unknown assailant and is probably dying on an operating table." John stood with his hands on his hips, staring at his chair.

"And you're here?" Sherlock asked, confused. John looked up, nodding.

"I am. Clearly." John raised his eyebrows. 

"Why?" Sherlock asked, John smiled slightly. Some anger shining through. 

"Because it is cruel irony that while she is living through a bullet wound I'm here with you. You, a man who's been shot by said woman, and who is still alive. I choose to be here." John sighed his response as if it should be common knowledge. His brow furrowed as he swiveled, "Now, where is my laptop? Ah. There it is." John turned quickly and grabbed his laptop, not giving Sherlock enough time to intercede. 

"Wait, John!" He choked before John was staring at the computer screen, his eyes widening more as he realized what he was reading.

"Sherlock...." he started, his jaw clenching as he tried to keep his breathing steady, "What am I looking at? Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

"What's the use of lying." Sherlock replied, slightly defeated and extremely guilty. He walked finally, moving to plop into his chair. John did the same, sitting across from him. 

"I suppose you're right." John replied. Closing the computer and setting it aside. He stared at the detective who met his eyes. Then he began to laugh into his faintly red hand. Sherlock stared, confused again. 

"What?" He asked finally after John snorted a few times and began to calm.

"Just..." He breathed, trying to steady the rhythm, "Well, what did you think?"

"About?" Sherlock answered, hoping playing naive would save him.

"Don't give me that, you git. I saw what part you were at. God, you must have been reading all morning. Since I left, I presume?"

"Just about." Sherlock answered, narrowing his eyes at John, and then it clicked, "You left those for me. I didn't find them by accident."

"No of course not." John shook his head, smiling fondly across at his friend.

"I bet Mary's not even dying." Sherlock scoffed, "How boring."

"Oh no, that part was real." John assured him, "just, stop thinking about her right now and answer me."

"What am I answering again? I wasn't listening." Sherlock was trying to play his bored detective role, but his blogger wasn't taking the bait. 

John sighed, leaning forward, "The entries, what did you think?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! Wooh!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems as though the last chapter was unimpressive? Idk, and i have NO CLUE where my mind is taking this. But, hey... It's intrigue!

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked, skeptical of John's intentions, "Your wife... Has been shot... Why are you  _here_?" 

"I told you, it's a bit of cruel irony." John sighed, as if he was bored, Sherlock's eyes widened. 

"No, there's something else... Something you're not telling me." Sherlock pried and John rolled his eyes.

" _What did you think_   _of the blogs?"_ He pressed, his eyebrows raised as he motioned down to his laptop. 

"I thought they were... Interesting." Sherlock replied, tilting his head at his best friend, who began twisting his hands in his lap again, "If you should like me to help you build a mind palace, we could start right now." 

"I'd like that." John nodded, dropping from his chair, to his knees, directly in front of Sherlock. The detective was confused, he looked around the flat for any outside influence on John, but found none, of course. John was directly in front of him, staring up at Sherlock, his eyes narrowed.

"You know, I can't just go into your mind and build it for you, that'll be your doing." Sherlock searched John's eyes for any semblance of panic or a hint that something was wrong, because something was definitely off, he wouldn't be there. He'd be with Mary.

"Of course." John breathed, smiling tight-lipped. He sat up a bit, his face was closer to Sherlock's, "Why don't you show me, then?" The close proximity of his blogger made Sherlock's heart race, and he swallowed thickly; He hadn't been expecting this. After reading the final deletion from John's blog, he'd known something was different about the man, that he'd come to some realization, and maybe it was time for Sherlock to come to the same conclusion. But not there, not at that moment. Not when Mary had been injured and Lestrade was looking after his daughter. Something was wrong.

"If you'd like me to." Sherlock smirked, leaning forward until his and John's face were so close, they were practically breathing in each other's air. John sighed slightly as Sherlock neared him, relief crossing his features momentarily before his eyes flicked sideways to the doorway. Sherlock kept his eyes on him and nodded towards the door, John shook his head. 

"Kiss me." John said quietly, so he did. Sherlock leaned in, their lips coming together in the briefest of pecks, that was all Sherlock would allow himself to do. But John seemed to want more, he grabbed a hold of Sherlock's head when he tried to move it away and kept him there. Their eye lock was brief before John dove back in, almost trying to swallow the detective whole. Sherlock had no choice but to match John in his hungry kisses, their tongues darting out to flick against one another's. John then moved his lips to Sherlock's cheek and soon, they came into contact with Sherlock's ear. The detective was trying desperately to hold back a quiet moan when John's lips stopped kissing, and instead began moving, forming words, "The shooter is at the front door." He said it quietly, so quietly that if anyone was indeed at the front door, they wouldn't be able to hear it. Sherlock nodded, and John's hands began to untangle from his hair. John backed off, Sherlock stood, buttoning his jacket.

"Might I suggest we move this into my bedroom?" Sherlock asked, making his voice as deep and sultry as he possibly could, John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes wide, his lips red and his cheeks flushed. The detective held out his hand, John took it and was pulled up. Sherlock persisted, tugging John back to his room quickly, whilst speaking loud enough that someone on the other side of the door could hear, "You see, John, I've wanted you, wanted  _this_ for a while now. I'm so glad I read your blogs, I never would have known you wanted it too." They got to his bedroom door and John's eyes were half filled with fear and half surprise, "Now I can have my way with you." Sherlock said, opening his bedroom door and shoving John inside. Once they had that door shut, Sherlock ran to his wardrobe, tugging open the doors and shoveling his way through clothes.

"The door just opened, hurry!" John instructed quietly as Sherlock found what he was looking for: A taser gun. John's browning was obviously back at his own place, but that would do for the time being. He held it up, checking everything and smiled over at his still-flushed companion.

"Worry not, John. I'll take him down." They stood against the door, his hand on the knob as he listened to the footsteps draw near. Suddenly John moaned, loudly. Sherlock furrowed his brow in confusion and looked at the shorter man, who shrugged.

"Making him think we are actually doing something." 

"It worked." Sherlock said, listening intently, "He's stopped walking." 

"Oh, Sherlock!" John shouted and the detective scoffed.

"Please." He rolled his eyes and John sighed.

"No, you're supposed to make me beg." 

"This isn't funny."

"It's a little funny." John shrugged and Sherlock looked back at him.

"Believe me, John, there will be time for giggling and moaning and begging later. Right now, we've got to catch the man who shot your wife before he goes after anyone else you love. God help him if he goes after Adelaide." Sherlock said and John immediately stopped smiling, standing up straight and nodded. Seeming to remember himself he stood behind Sherlock, as he opened the door of his room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUNNNNNN, one more chapter left!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm... I don't... I don't know why I decided this guy is the shooter... Just go with it.

The floor creaked as Sherlock exited his bedroom. The gun was raised by his ear, and was already cocked and ready for firing. But he knew the shooter must have heard them exit, but whoever it was, was nowhere to be seen. He checked the toilet, it was empty, as was the sitting room and kitchen. He turned back to John and gestured towards the open door leading out to the staircase. John nodded, beckoning for Sherlock to continue up the stairs when there was another creak from behind them. They turned as a man stood from behind Sherlock's chair.

"Good hiding spot." The voice said and Sherlock tilted his head at the man, "What, don't remember me?" He asked, smiling across the space at the detective, who was walking forward, creating a barrier between him and John. He was the one with the weapon, after all. 

"Tom?" Sherlock said, unsure if he remembered the name correctly. It was a man who dressed like him and resembled him slightly. A man who dated Molly Hooper, who suggested something as ridiculous as a meat dagger at John's wedding. He was the shooter.

"There you go!" He confirmed, raising his silenced pistol to his head and scratching at his hair, "Do you know how annoying it is, to dress like you and try to win the heart of someone who loves you?"

"I can only imagine." Sherlock sighed, bored with the conversation already. 

"What do you want?" John asked, swallowing thickly, it was the first time he'd seen Tom's face. He'd been surprised by Tom at the scene of the crime, he walked up to him and pressed a gun into his back, instructing John to walk forward and not look back. And his voice wasn't that recognizable.

"What I've always wanted." 

"Which is?" Sherlock asked, "You do have to tell us, we can't read your mind." 

"You can do a lot of things, Mr. Holmes." Tom said, "Tell me who I am." He stepped out from behind the chair and held out his arms. He wasn't dressed like Sherlock at that moment. No, in that moment he was dressed a lot like an assassin for hire. His all black ensemble paired with a pair of leather gloves that grasped the pistol with a silencer, that he now had held in front of him. 

"You're an assassin." Sherlock shrugged, knowing his guess was right.

"Good, good. But who's assassin am I?" He asked, "You can't honestly think that I'm still that dumb man who suggested a meat dagger at the wedding?" Tom laughed, "It was such a stupid idea. I played the part so well. Molly got so angry. She dumped me a week later." 

"Good on her." John growled from behind Sherlock.

"I have to say, the sex was pretty good." Sherlock sighed, tightening his grip on his gun, aiming it directly at Tom's head.

"Awe, come now, Sherlock... Don't get mad. You never really saw her. All you could ever see was Johnny boy over there." He smiled widely as Sherlock glanced back sideways at John who was clenching his jaw at the mention of his name. Only one other person called him that. Sherlock knew it instantly.

"You worked for Moriarty." He rasped, his throat suddenly extremely dry. 

"Ding ding ding!" Tom shouted, "Do you know my name?" 

"How would I know your name?" Sherlock asked.

"Hmm, let's see..." Tom tapped his fingers of his free hand against his lips, "Dear old dad tried to blow up parliament, failed miserably, thanks to you." He continued smiling, "Any ideas?" 

"Moran?" Sherlock asked, his eyes narrowing, "You're the son of Lord Moran?" 

"Name's Sebastian." He wiggled his fingers at Sherlock who began squeezing the trigger of the gun. The name Sebastian Moran rang through his mind and he remembered every part of Moriarty's network that he dismantled. Constantly searching for the man with the initials SM. He'd always assumed it was someone related to Moriarty. A brother. But no, this was worse. This man wasn't Moriarty's brother, he was his follower, his disciple. He'd stop at nothing until that lunatic's plan was carried out. Without another thought, he pulled the trigger. The sound must have been enough to startle Tom/Moran into squeezing his own trigger, because a small metallic shot followed the loud gun shot that echoed out of Sherlock's gun.

His heart pounded in his ears, it was all he could hear, minus the ringing. He hadn't shot anyone since Magnussen and the horror he felt at that moment was unfounded. He stared at the body on the floor, it was unmoving, and drenched in blood. The pool around his head was beginning to soak into the floorboards and he knew he'd never be able to get that stain up. He'd have to get a rug to throw over it. It would be tedious, but necessary. He rolled his eyes at himself. How could he be thinking of decor at a time such as that? He'd just killed a man. And for what? To protect a woman who'd shot him. No, not to protect, to avenge. They had to get to the hospital.

"John." He said, turning back to find his friend, a tear slipped from his eye when he saw John kneeling behind him, clutching his side, "John!" He shouted, turning and running to the man quickly. It was a moment of deja vu as he searched John for the source of his pain, only a small amount of blood seeped through this time.

"I'm fine." John grunted, pushing weakly at Sherlock's prying hands.

"No, you're not, you're hurt." 

"It only grazed me." John said, pulling his shirt up to reveal a bloody and slightly deep line across his side and Sherlock collapsed backwards out of relief. He breathed heavily, laying back against the floor of the sitting room, his arm tossed over his eyes and he began to laugh.

"What?" John asked, pressing his shirt against the wound as he picked up his phone and began dialing 999.

"Meat dagger." Sherlock laughed, "I just realized what a double entendre that is!" He began laughing hysterically and John couldn't help but join in. They laughed about meat dagger until the medics showed up to take them away. 


	12. Chapter 12

25th December, 2015

 

There are times I look at my life and wonder how I got to this point. Living in Baker street, my daughter upstairs in the room I used to call my own and sharing a bed with a man I call my best friend, as well as a few other thing's I wouldn't dare share with the internet. 

Once we discovered Sebastian Moran, the man formerly known as Tom, went after Mary because of an abandoned promise she made to Moriarty, it wasn't difficult to figure out what it was that I needed to do. I left her, and I got my daughter out of there. Yes, she was recovering from a nearly fatal gunshot at the time, but the moment I heard her name spoken in the same breath as that criminal mad man's, I just.... It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was Adelaides well being. 

I know what you're thinking, 'but John, isn't Sherlock just as dangerous?' And yeah, sometimes he is. But he cares about other people more than himself, and that is what makes the difference. 

It is that heart, that he would never dare show to anyone but those that mean the most to him, that draws me to him the most. Sure the exhilarating nature of our job adds to it, but it's that I am genuinely loved. There is no selfish quality to the way he loves me. And the same goes for me. My love is unconditional, always has been. 

Even when he reads through my deleted blogs. 

\-----------------------------------

As Sherlock read the last line, the door to the bedroom opened and he turned to see John leaning against the door frame. 

"I suppose there's no use in hiding it?" Sherlock said guiltily as he set the laptop aside.

"Come now, you know I wrote that specifically for you." John rolled his eyes as he rounded the bed and sat next to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and schooched over, leaning back into John's open arms; The doctor then wrapped those arms around his best friend and planted a soft kiss atop his dark curls, "Always for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welllllll thank you for indulging my crazy ideas! These short and insane chapters. I'm still trying to process half the stuff I came up with. If you enjoyed it, let me know! Or perhaps read some of my other crazy ideas!!! I'm full of em!
> 
> Until next time!!


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